Monday, July 20, 2015

Etnosur Redux and Cultural Conversation

Etnosur was an amazing experience last year, because it was my first time. This year, I went
again, partly because it's free, partly because it features amazing
indie music, partly because the attendees are mostly hippies and I
feel comfortable, but mostly because it was a chance to see my
friends from my pueblo. It had been too many months since my last
visit to Villacarrillo, and honestly it was like almost nothing had
changed since Etnosur 2014. One thing that did change slightly was the
language barrier; I joked that last year, with their strong Jaén
accents, I understood 20%. This year, ....30% (just kidding, it's a lot
higher than that).

Two Etnosur faves: Chocolata & Befunkbop

What didn't change: we're still young
at heart, Etnosur was still an awesome 3-day botellón (outdoor
drinking party), and I'm still part of the family. This having been my
second year in a row attending, I felt more comfortable with my
experience. I knew how to pace myself, when to pack it in, what food
to eat (fresh fruit is so important), when to time my coffee and
energy drinks in order to dance all night, what to wear (the cold
evenings were a refreshing change from Jaén's heat), and how to
sleep (a quiet flat and earplugs are essential for me).

I returned to Jaén with a Spanish
friend, and we had the most interesting conversation about culture
shock. She lived in Leeds for a while to study and learn English. I
told her that I loved Etnosur because although people looked at me a
little bit, due to the nature of the festival I didn't feel like an
alien being Asian. Meanwhile, on the streets of Jaén, people almost
break their necks staring at me, and it makes me uncomfortable.
She, on the other hand, thought there was something physically wrong
with her in Leeds because over there, hardly anyone gave her a glance, even
though she's beautiful. Of course she eventually learned that in other parts of the world, staring is a big no-no.

We also talked about racism,
specifically how people sometimes maliciously yell “¡China!” at me. She said it wasn't racism, rather it was people
being assholes and picking what they consider the weakest part of me. It could be someone's face, skin, fatness, skinnyness,
clothes... whatever assholes intuitively believe will hurt you,
they'll use it as a weapon. For my friend, due to her exotic features
she'd been called “Moro” (Moroccan) time to time, but she brushed
it off and attributed it to people being anything from jokesters to
jerks (to whom she'd respond '¡Que te den por culo!' or “Go f***
yourself.”) To the Canadian, it's racism. To my friend, it's the
Spanish 'anything goes' nature. We concluded that this was why we
love cultural mixes; we learn something new every time.